THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME

Powder and shot now fight our fights

And we meet our foes no more,

As face to face our fathers fought

In the brave old days of yore;

To the thirteen inch and the needle gun,

To the she-cat four-point-three

We look for help when the war-dogs yelp

And the foe comes o'er the sea!

Oho! for the days of the olden time,

When a fight was a fight of men!

When lance broke lance and arm met arm—

There were no cowards then;

Sing ho! for the fight of the olden time,

When the muscles swelled in strain,

As the steel found rest in a brave man's breast

And the axe in a brave man's brain!

The lance-point broke on the armor's steel,

And the pike crushed helmet through,

And the blood of the vanquished, warm and red,

Stained the victor's war-steed, too!

A fight was a fight in the olden time—

Sing ho, for the days bygone!—

And a strong right arm was the luckiest charm,

When the foe came marching on!